Dairy Free

Carrots have been one of my quiet successes. The carrot thinning salad has become a regular weekly addition throughout the summer. Root vegetables no bigger than your little finger have a charm to them that insists you leave them whole. Cooking them, in shallow water so that they steam rather than boil, takes barely a minute or two. I dress them as soon as they are out of the pan, sometimes with a light, lemony dressing, other times with cilantro. To turn this into a main-course salad, add spoonfuls of ricotta or cottage cheese to which you have added pepper and some of the dressing.

There will be quite a bit of this left over for the next day. Lovely reheated with cold ham.

A preserved duck leg from the deli has saved my supper more times than I can count. Cased in its own white fat and crisped up in the oven or in a sauté pan, these “duck confit” are as near as I get to eating ready-made food. One January, arriving home cold and less than 100 percent, I stripped the meat from a couple of duck legs and used it to add protein to an express version of one of those lovingly tended cabbage and bean soups. The result was a slightly chaotic bowlful of food that felt as if it should be eaten from a scrubbed pine table in a French cave house. An extraordinarily heartwarming supper, immensely satisfying. An edible version of the sort of people one refers to as “the salt of the earth.” I am certain no one would have guessed it hadn’t spent the entire afternoon puttering away in a cast-iron pot.

The brassicas are much revered in Chinese cooking, and dealt with elsewhere in this book, but the white cabbage, with its waxy leaves and crisp stalks, makes an excellent candidate for seasoning with the saltier accompaniments. On cold, rather gray days, the sort of day when nothing much happens, I often crave robust, dominating flavors—perhaps in a quest to inject some vigor into the occasion. Strident greens tossed in lip-tingling oyster sauce can be such a dish. In the last four or five years, this has become one of those recipes I use as a “knee-jerk” accompaniment—an alternative to opening a bag of frozen peas. It is excellent with grilled pork chops, though I have also eaten it atop a bowl of steamed rice before now.

The frugality implied in the words “cabbage soup” appeals to me just as much as the fanciful descriptions of Michelin-starred menus. The words evoke a rich simplicity where nothing unnecessary intrudes. This is indeed a soup of extraordinary solace, gratifying in its purity. The stark fact that this was a meal formed in poverty is there for all to see. Portugal has a cabbage soup, perhaps the best known of all, caldo verde. It is made with couve gallego, a yellow-flowered kale, whose leaves are flatter and less plumelike than the kale we generally buy in the market. The other ingredients are from the pantry, but should include a few slices of chorizo if the soup is to have any authenticity. This soup works with any coarse-textured greens and eminently, I think, with Savoy cabbage.

Early January 2008 and I am having my annual tidy up of the pantry. The “lentil shuffle” as I call it, as that is basically what the job entails. Sorting out the pantry always results in my making something bean or lentil oriented. I think it must remind me of just how many I have. What follows is a rather hot bean curry. You could cool its ardor by skipping a chile or two. The greens offer a hit of cool freshness on top of the substantial and deeply spiced beans. A speedier version, suitable for a midweek supper, can be made with canned beans. There is no real reason why you shouldn’t use any dried or canned beans you wish here. Chickpeas will work well too. If I do decide to open a can instead, then I use three 14-ounce (400g) cans.

The sour crispness of red cabbage makes it a good ingredient for a relish. Something stirring—hot, sharp, sour, bright—to introduce to a gamey pâté or a wedge of pork pie with softly collapsing pastry. Not normally given to making pickles and chutneys, I find this startling relish manageable without feeling I am going too far down the preserving route.

Sprout tops share a luxury of growth and strong flavor with many of the Asian greens. One cold day in November I married them to an impromptu sauce of essentially Chinese ingredients. It worked. The tricky bit was working out what, in future, they needed to share a plate with. A slice of ham steak; a piece of lamb’s liver; a fillet of mackerel, its skin crisped on the grill; a pile of sticky rice with some finely sliced air-dried sausages; a grilled mushroom the size of a saucer. All will work. Eminently.

I often serve this as a main course, but it is in its element as a side dish. Its bright green and smoky-bacon notes would be interesting with grilled mackerel, or perhaps with thinly sliced cold meat such as roast pork or beef. This is essentially a cheap dish, robust and earthy, to which you could add caraway seeds if juniper isn’t your thing, or shreds of fat-speckled salami in place of the bacon, or a few croutons to make it more substantial.

Broccoli doesn’t stir-fry well from raw. The beaded crown—the tight flower buds—tends to burn before the stem even approaches tenderness. Heads that have been briefly blanched in boiling water will, however, stir-fry deliciously, soaking up the ginger and soy or whatever other seasoning you might throw at them. In the last year or two I have taken to adding them to stir-fries of ground lamb or pork, letting the meat thoroughly caramelize in the thin pan before adding the greens. It’s a very quick, bright-tasting supper, invigorating and toothsome. But you do need to be brave with the meat, letting it glisten and almost crisp before you add the rest of the ingredients.

This tastes no more of beets than a carrot cake tastes of carrots, yet it has a similar warm earthiness to it. It is less sugary than most cakes, and the scented icing I drizzle over it is purely optional. The first time I made it, I used half sunflower and half Brazil nut oil, but only because the Brazil nut oil was new and I wanted to try it. Very successful it was too, not to mention boosting everyone’s zinc levels.

Clean flavors here, a delightful main-course salad for a summer’s day. You could use other fish, such as red mullet, if you prefer, but the richness of mackerel’s flesh goes well with the sweet beets and tart marinade. Some watercress would be good with this, and maybe a few slices of dark bread and butter.

There is no joy in undercooked asparagus. Neither, curiously, is there much flavor. It must be soft and juicy, otherwise it loses much of its magic. Baking the spears in an aluminum foil parcel in the oven will suit those who don’t like messing around with boiling water and steam, and keeps the asparagus surprisingly succulent.

Okay, I’ll admit it: Although I’m known primarily as a bread guy, I’ve been eating far more crackers than bread lately—probably always have, actually, and it’s a safe bet that I always will. Sure, artisan bread is the sexy sister, but a good cracker is the hardworking Cinderella of baked goods, and I think it’s time to bestow the glass slipper. In fact, I have a feeling that there are many other undeclared cracker freaks out there just waiting for crackers to be validated as a significant player in the exploding American culinary renaissance. A quick look at supermarket shelves shows that the real growth for both crackers and bread is occurring in the whole grain category. Even iconic brands such as Ritz are coming forth with whole grain products. I’ve spent nearly twenty years trying to convince folks to bake bread at home, even tilting at windmills by trying to encourage them to make 100 percent whole grain breads at home, but I’ve encountered far less resistance in urging that same audience to try making their own whole grain crackers. Why the receptivity? It’s probably because crackers are far easier and faster to make than bread (and the dough doesn’t even need to be held overnight in the refrigerator). But I also think there are deeper reasons. Crackers are so versatile, and so easily substituted for chips and other guilt-laden snacks. Whole grain crackers are the perfect, guilt-free snack. Not only do they have a satisfying, toasty flavor, they’re also loaded with dietary fiber, which helps lessen cravings for sweets and reduce mindless eating between meals. When properly made, crackers have a long finish. Eat some now and you’ll still be enjoying the lingering, earthy flavors in 30 minutes. Crackers can be naturally leavened with yeast, like Armenian lavash; be chemically leavened with baking powder or baking soda, like many commercial crackers; or be completely unleavened, like matzo or Triscuits. They’re usually crisp and flaky but don’t have to be. They can be buttery (with real or fake butter), or lean and mean, like saltines and other variations of water crackers. Whole grain crackers, regardless of the leavening method, have one major factor going for them: fiber, lots and lots of fiber. This cracker recipe is easy to make at home, even if you’ve never baked a loaf of bread in your life. It’s a variation of one of the most popular recipes from my previous book, Peter Reinhart’s Whole Grain Breads, and is especially fun to make with kids. I’ve adjusted the recipe so that these crackers, which are unlike any crackers you can buy, are even more crisp than the original. I’m ready to start a home-baked cracker revolution to match the bread revolution of the last fifteen years and hope I can enlist you in the cause.

There are a number of ways to make pretzels, but I like this version, especially when the pretzels are served with mustard. The baking method is similar to making bagels, but not quite the same. Traditionally, pretzels are dipped in pans of food-grade lye and water to create the distinctive shiny, dark brown crust, but this kind of lye is difficult to obtain and dangerous to have lying around the house, so I suggest substituting a baking soda solution. However, if you can obtain lye and are comfortable using it, follow the instructions on the package. (To use lye crystals, combine 0.75 ounce or 21 grams of crystals with 2 cups of water and be sure to wear protective gloves and eyewear—you can see why I prefer baking soda!)

There are many ways to make rye bread, and every bread lover has a favorite version. But when push comes to shove, the style that sells the most is soft sandwich rye. This version includes the optional use of cocoa powder, which darkens the bread in the style of pumpernickel. Other optional ingredients, whether caraway, minced dried onion, or nigella seeds (also known as black onion seeds), transform this recipe into various regional favorites. Adding orange oil or extract and anise seeds, for example, turns it into a Swedish-style limpa rye bread. You can use various types of rye flour in this recipe. The version most commonly sold is the “white flour” version of rye, with the bran and germ sifted out. But if you look around, you should be able to find stone-ground, whole grain, or dark rye flour, as well as pumpernickel flour. You could even use rye chops or rye meal, which are more coarsely ground, resembling cracked wheat or steel-cut oats. The trade-off is that whole rye flour is more healthful, while light rye yields a softer, lighter loaf. The choice is yours. The molasses is an important flavor component in this bread, but feel free to reduce the amount or replace it with sorghum syrup or golden sugar syrup. Just don’t use blackstrap molasses, which is too strong; look for a product labeled “old-fashioned,” “fancy,” or “unsulfured.”

This dough is distinctive because of its generous use of eggs, which give it a beautiful golden color. This type of dough is most familiar as challah, in a braided form as the table bread for the Jewish Sabbath meal. But enriched egg breads have been made by bakers of many cultures for centuries, and they aren’t always braided. If you like the flavor and texture of this bread, feel free to use it to make any number of other baked goods, from dinner rolls to sweet cinnamon buns, and even yeasted coffee cake and sweet or savory swirl breads, like babka or cheese rolls. You can use either an egg white or a whole egg in the egg wash. The whole egg will create a darker crust.